


rivalry adds so much to the charms of ones conquests

by steponthegaslys



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: M/M, charles suffers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28288410
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/steponthegaslys/pseuds/steponthegaslys
Summary: charles is sick of pierre and esteban's stupid rivalry
Relationships: Pierre Gasly & Charles Leclerc & Esteban Ocon, Pierre Gasly/Esteban Ocon
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	rivalry adds so much to the charms of ones conquests

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sufferingcereal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sufferingcereal/gifts).



> merry christmas katharina! love you lots and lots and i feel very lucky to have you as a friend! :)

Charles was sick and tired of Pierre and Esteban arguing.

Sure, it seemed funny from the outside - two previous best friends racing together since childhood locked in a dramatic rivalry and unafraid to be as petty as not following each other on instagram.

  
But Charles had also known them since childhood, and he liked them both.

And that was why watching Esteban glare across the paddock at Pierre as he warmed up his reaction times with Pyry was so  _ irritating _ .

“Don’t you think it’s time to let go of this silly rivalry?” sighed Charles, a few sentences after Esteban had stopped listening.

“Huh?” asked Esteban, attention snapping back onto Charles after being called on the fact he was staring at Pierre. “No.”

“Why not? It’s been what, 10 years?” said Charles.

“Because he’s still an asshole,” said Esteban.

“I’m pretty sure you’re the only person in the paddock who’d say that about him,” pointed out Charles.

“Christian Horner would say it,” shrugged Esteban.

“You’re really trying to use Christian Horner as back up on this one,” said Charles, staring at him.

“Shut up,” sighed Esteban, looking away.

* * *

  
  


“A few more laps and I would have had him,” huffed Pierre, his arms folded across his chest as they stood in the media paddock after Spa.

“I’m sure you would have,” said Charles, deciding better than to mention that Lando and Alex had also been between the pair of them.

“He’s so smug,” sighed Pierre. “They pitted me so I couldn’t defend against him.”

“Are you sure they didn’t pit you because your tyres were falling off? That seems more likely,” said Charles, and Pierre rolled his eyes.

“So why not a little earlier? It’s like they see that I’m coming up to him or he’s coming up to me and decide that’s too scary,” said Pierre. “It’s stupid.”

Charles could tell that there was no way to get Pierre out of this conspiracy thinking. Not with the way he was looking at Esteban, anyway.

* * *

So Charles had come up with a plan.

He was going to make Pierre and Esteban reunite, and get along again, and that way he could live his life in peace and enjoy time with both of them.

Hell, with the rumours about Pierre being in discussion with Renault, it needed to happen sooner or later.

Monza had seemed like the perfect opportunity - Pierre had been on top of the world, to the point where Charles was fairly certain nothing would be able to spoil his mood.

And Esteban hadn’t done too badly either, having brought the car home in the points. 

“Just say something nice for once,” encouraged Charles, giving Esteban a little nudge. “It’s his first win. If there’s ever a time to do it, it’s now.”

“Oh yeah. Congratulate the first french race winner,” said Esteban, rolling his eyes. “I’m sure that’ll feel great for me.”

“Aren’t all french people meant to be very nationalistic? You’d think you’d be happy to hear your national anthem, even if it’s because of Pierre,” said Charles.

“Shut up,” sighed Esteban, looking away from him. 

Charles was swept away by the media soon enough, asking him about his crash and his feelings about Pierre’s maiden win, and how the two things were linked, and it was late when he finally had the chance to visit Pierre’s drivers room.

“You’re really pissed off enough to lurk outside here?” sighed Charles, when he caught Esteban near the Alpha Tauri motorhome.

“Huh?” asked Esteban, eyes widening in surprise that he’d been caught. Charles could tell that he’d been sneaking around for a while - there was sweat on his brow, and a slight flush to his cheeks that could only have come from running around and trying not to be noticed.

“Just go say congratulations to him and get it over with,” sighed Charles. 

Esteban rolled his eyes, before huffing and stalking off.

Charles decided not to mention it to Pierre who was bright eyed, hair a mess, cheeks slightly flushed, high on adrenaline and victory and reeking of champagne that had been sprayed all over him.

* * *

  
  


“You seriously said that to the press?” groaned Charles, looking over at Esteban.

“What?” asked Esteban.

“You said that it wasn’t easy to text Pierre congratulations after he won.”

“It wasn’t,” shrugged Esteban.

“And you said that you only did it on tuesday,” sighed Charles.

Esteban just shrugged again. “I did.”

“He won on sunday. Were you really that busy that you couldn’t type out a simple little message?” sighed Charles.

“Yeah,” said Esteban, and Charles watched with a sinking feeling as Esteban was led around by one of the Renault media people, undoubtedly to answer further questions about the first french winner in 24 years.

“They’re going to drive me to an early grave,” Charles told Sebastian later that night as they walked through the hotel together. 

“Someone finally knows how I feel with you then,” said Sebastian, before looking at his face and seeing that this was genuinely bothering him. “You just need to let them feud. They’ll get over it eventually.”

“They’ve been at it ten years,” reminded Charles.

  
“Well maybe they won’t,” said Sebastian, shrugging.

“That’s… not helpful.”

“Such a shit race,” groaned Pierre after Sakhir, arms folded across his chest as he glared across the paddock at Esteban, champagne soaked after taking his maiden win.

“It wasn’t that bad,” said Charles, sighing as he realised who Pierre was busy glaring at.

Maybe it was just a theme with Red Bull drivers? He could feel Max’s eyes on his back even now. Did they train them on that in Austria or wherever it was that they went?

“You crashed out on lap 1. After qualifying 4th,” reminded Pierre, and Charles sighed. “What do you mean it wasn’t that bad?”   
  
“You got to see a french flag on the podium right?” asked Charles. “That’s a silver lining for you.”

“I didn’t watch the podium,” said Pierre, and Charles could feel his jaw drop.

“You always watch the podium.”

“Not this time,” shrugged Pierre.

* * *

  
  


Charles had  _ not  _ been expecting to see Pierre walking out of the Renault motorhome when he came to see Esteban and congratulate him on his podium.

A part of him actually felt ecstatic - because the  _ only _ reason Pierre would have been there on this day was also to congratulate him, right?   
  
Charles felt his heart sink when he actually asked what Pierre was doing there.

“Came to speak to a man about a seat,” winked Pierre.

“You came to negotiate about taking Esteban’s seat on the day of his first podium?” asked Charles in shock.

“Yeah,” shrugged Pierre, running his fingers through his hair and Charles could see that his cheeks were slightly pink. “No way that Marko doesn’t take Sergio after he won today. So it’s time to get out of Red Bull.”

“I-,” said Charles, staring at him. “But today?  _ Of all days _ ? Does Esteban know you’ve been here?”

“Nope,” grinned Pierre, waving at him before rushing off to catch up with one of the Alpha Tauri media staff.

* * *

For the most part, it was easier when Esteban and Pierre pretended that the other didn’t exist. 

That seemed to prove impossible though when they were going to start next to each other on the grid though.

“Please, don’t be stupid,” sighed Charles, sitting down next to Pierre in the drivers briefing.

“Huh?” asked Pierre, looking over at him in surprise.

“Starting next to Esteban. Please don’t crash each other out again,” sighed Charles.

“Why are you telling me that?” sighed Pierre. “You should be telling him that. Besides, he’s starting next to me despite being in a faster car.”

“You two never pass up an opportunity to get a dig in, do you?”

“Nope,” smirked Pierre, winking at Charles.

If Charles tried to say that his conversation with Esteban went any better, he’d be lying.

“If we crash, we crash,” shrugged Esteban. “It’ll be good to finally get to beat him in an on track battle. They keep splitting us up whenever we get close the rest of the time.”   
  
“Do you not think that proves my point about being concerned about you crashing? That both of your teams think it’s enough of a risk to make sure you’re separated?” 

Esteban just shrugged.

* * *

Charles did his best to try and be happy about his result - but he’d finished out of the points, and behind Seb (and  _ fuck _ , he was going to miss Seb) and he knew that his chances at 4th in the drivers championship had vanished into thin air a few races before, but it still stung to have it formalised and zero chance of a miraculous turnaround.

He’d given some media interviews, about how he was going to miss Seb, and how he hoped the car would be better next year, and that he thought Ferrari could solve the engine issue at long last, and was onto the next one when he saw it.

He saw Pierre go up to Esteban, and Esteban clap Pierre on the shoulder, and Pierre  _ laugh _ , and part of Charles questioned whether they’d had some kind of crash he hadn’t heard about and become concussed. Or maybe he himself had and was now seeing things?

“Huh. Didn’t expect that,” said Daniel, who was also watching on. “Good on him.”   
  
“What do you mean, good on him?” asked Charles.

“Well Esteban took Lance in the last lap. That got Pierre tenth. I’m guessing Pierre’s saying thanks,” explained Daniel.

“He took  _ Lance _ ? Stroll?” checked Charles, looking at him in surprise.

“For France,” laughed Daniel.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Charles had never exactly been known for being early, but there was no reason he couldn’t start now, right?

He’d told Pierre that he’d be over to see him in the Alpha Tauri motorhome once he’d wrapped up with his own team and Seb, and that hadn’t gone on nearly as long as he’d thought. Plus, he’d rushed out pretty quickly, not wanting any of his team to see that his eyes were slightly red after seeing what Seb had written on his helmet.

The Alpha Tauri motorhome had always had a weird atmosphere in Charles’ opinion. It was a strange mix of italian engineers and all their passion and chaos, trying to be controlled by Austrian efficiency. But somehow Pierre seemed to thrive in there, so it wasn’t all that bad, he supposed.

He still preferred Ferrari though.

He didn’t bother knocking before pushing open the door to Pierre’s drivers room - and immediately regretted it, as he saw Pierre bent over the arm of the small couch in there, Esteban balls deep in him.

“I’llcomebacklater,” he’d said quickly, before rushing out and not meeting their eyes.

He wondered whether this was some weird fever dream. Was he going to wake up, the grand prix not even having begun yet? There was no way he could have seen what he’d just seen, right?

“Just fucking finish, we’ll speak to him later,” he could hear Pierre saying through the door as he walked away, and Charles was stuck acknowledging that  _ no _ , this was really happening.

Fuck, they’d be the death of him.

* * *

“So I feel like we owe you an explanation,” sighed Pierre, shifting awkwardly where he was sat on the edge of Charles’ hotel room bed.

“I can’t look at either of you,” mumbled Charles, head under the duvet, because maybe if he didn’t have to see Pierre and Esteban sat next to each other on the edge of his bed, the world might make a little more sense again.

“Haven’t you been trying to get us to be nice to each other for years?” sighed Esteban.

“Yeah,” said Charles sadly.

“So does this not make you happy?”

“No,” said Charles, shaking his head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“What do you mean, it doesn’t make sense Calamar?” sighed Pierre, leaning forward to pat Charles’ arm through the duvet.

“You’re constantly dicks to each other. Where the fuck did this even come from?” asked Charles, glaring at them as he pulled down the covers to reveal his face.

“Esteban’s got a big dick and a humiliation kink,” smirked Pierre, before yelping as Esteban slapped his arm. “What? It’s true.”

“What he means to say is that it’s been going for ages,” said Esteban, sighing. “First time was in Monza.”

“You mean -”   
  
“Yeah, that was why he was sneaking around,” laughed Pierre. “Daniil said you tried to defend me, he could hear you through his window. Funny.”

“I don’t get it,” frowned Charles.

“Surprise, surprise,” sighed Esteban.

“And Bahrain. You thought I was being so mean,” laughed Pierre. “Poor Charlie.”

“He looks so confused right now,” said Esteban, shaking his head.

Charles could do nothing but stare at them in shock.

“What? You never got dicked down by your childhood rival?” asked Esteban.

“No. That’s why Max is such an asshole I think,” hummed Pierre. “They both need to learn to get their frustration out.”

  
  
They were really going to be the fucking death of him.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm over on tumblr @pierregasiy if you wanna chat!


End file.
